Battle of the Rhine

"Big Girl" is a New Yorker, but far more visionary than a boy who raises cattle in a remote country.Getting from the US to Europe is such a chore, it's no wonder few people are willing to take on the job.This was Michael's first reaction after getting off the plane. "I fucked up to San Francisco, then I flew up and down, up and down - Honolulu, Tokyo, Hong Kong, Bangkok... and finally Frankfurt and my legs were like elephant legs !"

"You asked for it," said Oliver relentlessly. "You came here—you must be crazy."

"I'm not crazy, want to see my college diploma?"

Michael thumped his leg. There are still hundreds of kilometers from Frankfurt to Munich. "I would have driven here if I knew it."

"You can, you can drive directly into the Atlantic Ocean, and you can still break the world record!"

Oliver squeezed his military cap and hugged his comrades beamingly.They pounded each other's shoulders, wishing they had "fuck" or "son of a bitch" in every sentence. "I thought you were a college student, and you looked at people with your nostrils turned upside down!" Oliver was very happy, "You haven't changed, Mike, you are still my old buddy."

The comrades who have been around for several years happily ate a meal. "The Germans are miserable," Oliver introduced enthusiastically. "It's better now, you know, and it's still up to them to resist the Soviet Union. I knew it would be like this. In the past few years, the Germans burned carbon." Sorry, let alone bread...the poverty is beyond imagination."

"So scary?" Michael gnawed on the bread, "Wow, what's this called—"

"It's your own fault." Oliver stirred the coffee. "My grandpa kept asking me, what happened to his hometown? I told him, it's flat, it's all flat!"

"Really flattened?"

"I don't know, but there are not many places left in Germany that are intact. There are a few particularly famous universities in Munich, such as the University of Munich, the Technical University of Munich... Oh, the bombing of good schools is all over the place, that's miserable. "

Michael wasn't thinking about college, and he ordered a beer, which, thankfully, tasted passable.He drank his beer, wondering how to speak.At this moment Oliver cleared his throat, "I said, Mike, tell the truth."

"What?"

"What? Can you change your accent?"

"That's it for me, buddy." Michael drank some more beer, and strings of foam surged in the golden liquor, "Well, I want to say—"

"You want to ask the 'King'?" Oliver raised his eyebrows teasingly, "Isn't it?"

"Yes, yes, I admit it." Alcohol fermented in the blood, Michael pinched his ears, "Has he grown a beard?"

"you guess?"

"Ollie!"

"No, no," Oliver sneered, "he didn't, I wrote you, and he's still the same, clean from head to toe - I don't mean to say that a beard is unclean, but he's like that... he Definitely tidying up like a girl.

"Maybe his wife is more diligent." Thinking of Emma, ​​Michael couldn't help touching his chest, where Quincy's military badge was lying, "He's married... I remember his wife's name is Emma..."

Oliver seemed to choke on his coffee, "God, you even remember this? Seriously, does he owe you money?"

"It shouldn't be." Michael held up his beer glass to hide his embarrassment, "I sent all my money to Mary. When I returned to the United States, I only had 33 yuan and a few coins in my pocket. I was... after Tim died. I was in a bad mood for a while and beat him a lot, so I thought..."

"Hey, all right. You're such a sweetheart, Mike." Oliver held up his coffee cup. "To the fact that we survived to talk in German pubs, cheers!"

Michael looked around and found that the flower bed at the end of the path was in an excellent location.Just set up three machine guns here—stop, stop, he rubbed his nose, smoothed the folds of his jacket, cleared his throat, and hugged the paper bag a little tighter in his arms.Two large black and gray birds were jumping and pecking at the edge of the flower bed. He looked around, dispelled the MG42, Thomson submachine gun, Luger and 98K in his mind, and then sat down on the edge of the flower bed.

A young mother passes by with a stroller, and Michael's heart constricts so hard that he nearly jumps.Oh, no, brown hair, he sat back and pretended to open the paper bag to have a look.Two bottles of red wine, not a bargain.When he was learning German in the United States, the arrogant German warned him that when he was a guest at a German home, especially a German home with status, he had to bring some decent gifts.

"Bastard Hitler." Michael breathed out, the temperature in Germany in October was already very low, and the cold wind kept drilling into his neck.Who would have thought of fighting in October in Europe?Another young woman hurried past, blonde hair, probably not Emma.It was almost four o'clock, and Emma was sure to pick up the children from the kindergarten, or take little Quincy to buy freshly baked bread.Emma, ​​Emma, ​​Emma? Quinnessy, that's not a good name.Michael stamped his hands and feet, and an old woman with silver hair stopped in front of him. He stood up reflexively, and the old woman asked in German with a strong accent: "Do you need help?"

"I...wait for someone." Michael rolled his tongue and answered in German.He has studied German for more than four years, but he is still not very confident.

"Are you a foreigner?" The old woman looked wary, "Aren't you a German?"

"I'm American," Michael said, remembering Oliver's admonition that southern Germans are colder and hate foreigners more. "I am not a bad guy."

The old woman nodded, but her accelerated pace showed that she didn't believe Michael's words at all.The Yankee came to the door for no reason... On the way, Michael also saw several ruins caused by the bombing.He walked around the garden twice with the paper bag in his arms, searching for the blonde girls in the street, and guessing which one of them was the real Emma.It's so boring, he also thinks it's ridiculous.Traveling thousands of miles back to Europe——

A little after four o'clock, the sun began to slowly set to the west.Michael was bored counting the heads and comparing the positions of the machine guns.Oliver said the address was not entirely accurate.Munich is a big city, and there are probably a few hundred guys named Carl Quincy.As luck would have it, Michael stared at the small building, a typical German-style building with a brand new exterior.There are some flowers planted in the flowerbed, and the branches and leaves are swaying in the wind.If you are in the mood to plant flowers, it means that you are doing well.Michael stood up again holding the paper bag and stamped his feet. He should buy some thick socks.

At 23:23, he remembers it very clearly. This time seems to be engraved in his mind-at 50:[-], a man in a long black trench coat appeared [-] meters away from the flower bed, holding a small paper bag.The setting sun shone on his bright blond hair, Michael was trembling like an electric shock, his heart was beating wildly, his mind was blank, and the military registration card on his chest was hot as if it was on fire.

It's Quincy!Yes, yes, it was him.Five years later, Michael recognized him at a glance.And Quincy seemed to recognize him too, and his pace slowed, and after the initial shock, those blue eyes glowed like two flaming coins on that face of ancient Roman statues.

"...He's trying to kill me," thought Michael, not surprised.

"Good afternoon," the uninvited guest raised his hand, "You may not remember me, I am—"

"Fiennes?" Quincy clutched the paper bag, his voice was surprisingly cold, "What are you doing here?"